


The Matchmaker

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Courferre Holiday Exchange, DATING SHOW AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre didn't plan to be on a dating show, but somehow it happened. He didn't plan to fall in love with the host, either, but that happened too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Matchmaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMightyChipmunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/gifts).



> Bridget asked for a The Bachelor AU with Courf as the host and Combeferre as the bachelor, and well. I kind-of took the idea, changed it a lot and ran with it. Hope you like what it became!

When Combeferre came home one day, exhausted from a long day of work, he found Joly on his couch. Fidgeting. A bad sign if there ever was one.

Living with Joly had always been an interesting experience. In the years they’d spent as roommates, Combeferre had walked in on a lot of strange things. There was the time Joly and Bossuet had been “making science” in the kitchen (he still wasn’t sure what they had been doing—only that they were very, very drunk); or the time he’d come home from a very long shift to find the living room filled with puppies (for a puppy party, obviously. Combeferre didn’t understand); and of course there was the time he’d found Cosette and Joly had redecorated the entire apartment in a day without mentioning anything to Combeferre.

But Combeferre had kind-of thought the oddness would stop when Joly moved out. And somehow, he was completely wrong.

Eyes wide, Joly smiled at him in an almost frightening way. “Hi, Ferre, how was your day?”

Combeferre sighed, setting down his bag and taking off his shoes with a practiced patience before asking, “What did you do now?”

“What? Who said I did anything?”

Combeferre gave her a pointed look, settling in the armchair nearest to Joly. “You wouldn’t be on my couch if you hadn’t done—wait a second,” he paused, looking more closely at the room. Everything was neatly placed away and the tables even looked _dusted_. “Did you clean my apartment?”

“What? Why would I do that?”

It was obvious at this point that Joly was lying and avoiding the real topic; she always resorted to parroting questions when she was hiding something.

“Seriously, what’s going on?”

Joly grimaced. “Um, well. Don’t get mad.”

“ _Joly_.”

“Bossuet and I, we maybe signed you up for _The Matchmaker—_ you know, that dating show?—as a laugh,” she explained in a rush of words. Combeferre could only blink. “We didn’t think they’d actually pick you! But, well, uh. They did. And now they’re coming over to meet you.”

Combeferre was speechless. Truly speechless.

Joly winced, sweeping the bangs from her forehead in a nervous manner. “Are you going to kill me?”

That snapped Combeferre out of his silence. “What?”

“I’ve always been worried that someday I’d do something and you’d _snap_ ,” Joly explained, her joking attitude slipping back in. “This isn’t going to be it, is it? I’ve still got a lot to live for.”

“ _Joly_ ,” Combeferre chided halfheartedly.

“You’re annoyed though?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Combeferre agreed. “You shouldn’t have signed me up for this without _asking_. And wait—they’re coming now? When now?”

“ _Now_ now,” Joly answered with an apologetic smile. “I swear I only found out like an hour ago.”

Combeferre shook his head. “That still doesn’t explain why you signed me up at all.”

Joly looked at him with the utmost seriousness. “Combeferre,” she said. “You’ve been acquiring frogs at an alarming rate.”

Combeferre’s brow furrowed and tried to ask what exactly she was going on about, but Joly cut him off.

“When’s the last time you went on a date? With a _human_?” she questioned pointedly. “It was long before I moved out. And now you’re filling the void of loneliness with frogs.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Combeferre asked dryly.

Joly only glared at him. “Anyways it was a spur of the moment thing. We saw an ad for the show and thought, _hey, Combeferre could use something like that_. I told you, we filled it out mostly for a laugh.” She gave him a hopeful look. “But it might actually be good for you.”

“I don’t need—“

“ _Frogs_ , Combeferre. So many frogs.”

Combeferre scoffed. “They’re for research!”

“You’re a museum curator—what kind of research could you be doing with frogs?”

“Not everything I do has to relate to my job,” he argued huffily. In all reality, the frogs (of which there were only six—Joly was exaggerating grossly) were there half for observing and researching and half because he’d always wanted frogs and his mother never let him keep any.

Joly sighed.

“Look, you’re going to just have to tell the show I’m not interested,” Combeferre said. “Because I’m _not_ interested. It’s not as if I even have time for that sort of thing, anyway.”

“Dating?”

Combeferre narrowed his eyes. “Some horrible reality TV show.”

“It’s not _horrible_.”

“Look, I’m not—“

Combeferre was interrupted by a knock on the door. Joly brought back her hopeful smile, but Combeferre shook his head. “Make them go away.”

“Combeferre—“

“Joly _._ ”

Joly huffed and got up, dragging her feet as she headed to answer the door. “You’re sure?” she asked, hand hovering on the knob.

“I’m sure.”

And Combeferre was sure. So he _wasn’t_ sure how the next thing he heard was: “Come on in, Combeferre can’t wait to meet you.”

**

Combeferre found himself awkwardly trapped at his kitchen table, next to Joly and opposite the host of the show and his cameraman (with the camera, thankfully, off).

The host was charming—Combeferre would give him that—as Joly made small talk and got everyone water. He was gracious at all the right moments and had a smile that was like sunshine. And Combeferre had to stop thinking like that immediately.

“So it’s nice to meet you, Combeferre. I’m Courfeyrac, by the way,” he said, with that annoying pleasant smile on his lips. “We haven’t really had a chance to properly be introduced. But I have to say, we were all very excited to get your application.”

“Really?” He asked skeptically.

Joly elbowed him discreetly, giving him a warning look.

“Oh yeah,” Courfeyrac insisted enthusiastically. “It isn’t very often that we get someone like you on the show.” When he noticed Combeferre’s confusion, he continued. “I mean, nothing against our usual contestants, we just don’t tend to have people so… intellectual.”

Combeferre bit back a response about why exactly that was.

“I’m thrilled to work with you, actually. I’d love to hear all about your work.”

It was the kind of thing that this guy probably had to say to everyone, but Combeferre still felt incredibly flattered.

Wait, no. He was trying to get out of this he had to—now was the time to break it.

“Actually, I’m really not interested in participating in the show.” Combeferre did his best to sound appropriately apologetic.

“What?” Courfeyrac looked properly concerned. (Joly, meanwhile, was glaring daggers.) “Is there an issue?”

“It’s—well, this just isn’t for me.”

Courfeyrac frowned for a moment before he perked back up. “Okay. How about we make a deal?”

Combeferre blinked. “What?”

“Give me twenty minutes. Let me explain the show properly. If you’re still convinced that it’s not for you, then fine, but at least let me try.”

“I—“ Combeferre deliberated. He doubted Courfeyrac’s argument would result in _anything_ but a waste of both of their time, but… well, Courfeyrac was looking at him with such big, hopeful eyes that he couldn’t say no at all. “Alright.”

Courfeyrac lit up with a smile. “Okay, while we talk why doesn’t Marius—“ the cameraman perked up at the mention of his name. “take your friend and get some footage of her talking about you? You know, in case you decide to be on the show.”

“Sure, of course,” Joly chirped before Combeferre could make any comment, leading the cameraman away towards Combeferre’s spare room. He could hear a distant, “So how do you feel about frogs?” as the door closed behind them.

“Alright,” Courfeyrac grinned. “So, first of all, do you know how the show works?”

“You try to find my soulmate all while filming it?” Combeferre said dryly.

Courfeyrac gave an amused smile. “Well, it’s a little more complicated. Based on an algorithm developed for the show, a pool of contestants is compiled and I go through them and hand select ten for you to meet and have an opportunity to get to know,” he explained. “Then over a course of three weeks with dates and other events, you eliminate the contestants you don’t like and hopefully narrow it to one you have a real connection with.”

“How well does this actually work?”

“Well, we have two people per season and we’ve had two seasons so far. Out of the four, three are happily married and the last couple is still together,” Courfeyrac provided. “The algorithm truly provides a range of people you actually will be interested in. And from there, I make sure it’s a wide selection and try my best to guide you towards a lasting romance.”

Combeferre hummed, not really sure what to say.

“Really,” Courfeyrac insisted, sensing Combeferre’s doubt. “Unlike other hosts, I’m involved and working in your best interest. I even have a secret selection I can choose to introduce an eleventh contestant once I get to know you a bit better over the course of the show. And if you leave the show without finding a romance, you win a rather generous prize.”

“Well,” Combeferre tried to formulate his words to be kind. “It’s not that your show doesn’t sound interesting, it’s just that—“

“Look,” Courfeyrac interrupted, with that same damn friendly smile. “I know, you think you’re too good for it. But I honestly believe in this method and I think we could find you someone wonderful. Besides, if it doesn’t work out, what harm is there?”

“Uh—“ Combeferre suddenly found himself drawing a blank.

Courfeyrac beamed. “Exactly, there is none. And it would truly be a _huge_ favor to me, Combeferre. Having someone as interesting, handsome, and intelligent as you on the show would be fantastic. Plus, I think you’re a real challenge. I mean, it’s going to take me some real thought to find your companion—and that’s what I love. I do this because I believe in love and I want to find it for everyone.”

The complete sincerity in Courfeyrac’s eyes was touching; Combeferre couldn’t help feeling just a little moved. His resolve began to crumble slowly.

It was as if Courfeyrac could sense his weakness and pounced on it with another perfect, warm smile. “Will you do it?”

Combeferre wavered. “The show isn’t… it doesn’t focus on making people look bad, does it?”

Courfeyrac went wide-eyed. “Have you never seen it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Well. Do you have Netflix? We could watch an episode—or part of one at least—and you can decide for yourself. But honestly, it’s not that kind of show. We’re focused on creating relationships, not excessive drama.”

“I—okay,” Combeferre sighed. “I trust you.”

“And you’ll do it?” Courfeyrac was positively beaming again, looking completely radiant.

“I’m going to regret it,” Combeferre griped. “But yes.”

“No you won’t,” Courfeyrac assured, cheerfully. “And okay. There’s a few things I need you to sign and—oh, we’ll need to discuss a filming schedule, and I hope you’re not opposed to getting a few preliminary comments filmed today? You don’t even need to change, you look wonderful in that sweater you’ve got on—I’ll make a note to our stylist to have you in blues.”

Combeferre stared unabashedly as this barrage of comments washed over him.

Courfeyrac smiled sheepishly. “Too much at once?”

He nodded.

“Sorry, I just get excited,” Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “You’re not about to back out on me, are you?”

“No,” Combeferre gave a wry, put-upon smile in return. “No, I’m committed now.”

And God help him, somehow he was.

**

The first day of filming was supposed to be simple. It was only a matter of Combeferre getting introduced to all of the contestants vying for his attention, and then some small opportunities to get to know them first in a larger group and then in smaller groups. It was _supposed_ to be simple, but it really wasn’t.

Combeferre was nervous and stressed out before he even arrived; if it wasn’t for his promise to Courfeyrac (and the contract he signed), he wouldn’t have even shown up. Cosette seemed to recognize that and accompanied him the whole way there, dragging his suitcase along far too cheerfully.

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “At the very least, it’s a free vacation.”

But Combeferre wasn’t so sure. Yeah, he’d be staying in a lovely looking giant house, but it came at the cost of being on national television. Combeferre wasn’t the type of person that wanted to be on camera. At all. Ever.

When they arrived, Combeferre was momentarily comforted; Courfeyrac met them at their cab, looking positively thrilled.

“Hi! Can I help you with—oh you already have someone to help you with your bags,” Courfeyrac smiled, looking at Cosette as she stepped out. “I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m the host, Courfeyrac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Cosette smiled back in her sweet as sugar way. Combeferre knew that meant she was sizing him up, deciding what to think of him. “I’m Cosette, Ferre’s sister.”

The surprise showed on Courfeyrac’s face. That was typical; no one ever assumed they were related. “Oh really? He didn’t mention a sister.”

“He wouldn’t,” Cosette rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. “He’s a jerk.”

Combeferre shook his head. “To be fair—“

“Aren’t you always _Ferre_?” Courfeyrac interrupted with a cheeky grin. He quickly added, “Sorry. That was dumb—I didn’t—“

“No,” Combeferre assured, smiling himself. “I mean it was lame, but clever.”

Cosette snorted, and Combeferre almost flushed—feeling like he was being interrupted. “What Ferre was about to say is that we’re only half siblings. That’s why he looks so Indian and I look so Korean.”

Combeferre sighed exasperatedly. “No, what I _was_ about to say is that it didn’t come up in conversation.”

“Well, now he knows the whole story,” Cosette shrugged, nonplussed. There was a twinkle in her eye, though, and Combeferre could tell she was doing all this as part of her ‘annoying sister’ bit. “Well, not the whole story. Do you want to hear about our good-for-nothing biological father?”

Combeferre nearly groaned. “Ignore Cosette. It’s the best thing to do,” he advised.

Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “Why? I like her already.”

Cosette smiled sweetly, but this time Combeferre thought it was more genuine. She had seemed to decide that Courfeyrac was alright.

“In fact,” Courfeyrac continued. “I think it’d be great to get an introduction interview with you too—we got one with Joly when we first met. Would you mind?”

“Talking about Combeferre to millions of people? Oh not at all,” Cosette smirked and Combeferre was starting to regret her tagging along.

“Great,” Courfeyrac beamed. “Do you see that freckly guy out on the lawn over there? The one that looks like he’s about to trip at any moment?”

Combeferre snorted at the very apt description of who he knew to be Marius, but Cosette only nodded, fixed on him.

“That’s my right-hand-man, Marius. Tell him I want an intro interview with you and he’ll take care of it right now.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cosette agreed easily. Too easily. “Have fun, Ferre. Try not to talk too much about science or old books on your first dates. And nothing about moths. I’ll see you later,” she added, stretching onto her toes to place a kiss on his cheek (even so, Combeferre had to lean down).

“Bye,” he said, watching her flit away.

It must have shown how suddenly panicked he became with Cosette gone and the reality of being alone and having to date _while being filmed_ on the horizon, for Courfeyrac immediately came forward and set a hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t we get you settled in?” he asked cheerfully.

Combeferre nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

**

Courfeyrac toured Combeferre around the house, showing him the many (and probably unnecessary) rooms. The first floor was mainly shared living spaces—an enormous and lavishly furnished living room, an equally absurd dining room, a quaint sunroom, a kitchen big enough for Combeferre’s whole extended family. The second floor was equipped with more than enough bedrooms for all of the contestants, and was less interesting to Combeferre. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet any of them yet (or at all).

It was the third floor that held Combeferre’s room. He had to admit to being shocked when Courfeyrac showed him the ridiculously large room that was all for him—filled with a giant and comfortable looking king sized bed, a TV, and even a _couch_. It was probably as big as his whole apartment, frankly. And the ensuite bathroom was just as nice; Combeferre was already planning to use his jacuzzi tub.

“You like it?” Courfeyrac grinned when he saw Combeferre’s reaction.

“It’s a _lot_ , but—well, yeah,” he admitted with a laugh, setting down his bag and sitting on the bed. It was more comfortable than it looked. “I can’t really be opposed to staying somewhere so… _nice_.”

“The master bedroom is one of the best rooms in the house,” Courfeyrac agreed, sitting beside him. “I mean, I’m a little more partial towards the kitchen or the greenhouse out back, but—“

“There’s a greenhouse?” Combeferre interrupted, eyes widening in surprise.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac smiled wryly. “Another one of your ‘hobbies?’ You seem to have quite a few.”

Combeferre smiled almost sheepishly. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No,” Courfeyrac shook his head earnestly. “No, definitely not. All your interests seem fascinating. I told you, it’s part of why I had to choose you.”

“So you could have a nerd on the show?” Combeferre joked, not really sure what to say under Courfeyrac’s praise.

“So I could _work with_ a nerd,” Courfeyrac corrected, voice light and teasing. “I mean—this doesn’t leave the room but—all of the past people I’ve been matchmaker for? They were kind-of horrible. That sounds harsh, it’s not like they were _horrible_ horrible. Just not the kind of people I’d be friends with.” He paused, looking at Combeferre. “But _you_ —you seem so genuine and intelligent. Clever and funny and nice, to boot. I chose you because I’m selfish and I think I’ll have a really good time having you around.”

Combeferre could feel his face heat up—it was far too much.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “Enjolras—he’s one of my best friends, you’ll meet him soon—he always tells me I come on too strong. But I hope we’ll be good friends by the end of this. And I hope I really do find you your perfect match, because you deserve it.”

He was so earnest and genuinely interested in Combeferre that there was no way Combeferre could see them not becoming friends.

“I do think we’ll have a good time together,” Combeferre agreed. “Honestly, if you weren’t the host, I never would have agreed to this.”

Courfeyrac beamed. “This will be so much fun, I promise you.”

“We’ll see.”

“Come on, don’t be grumpy,” Courfeyrac laughed, shoving him lightly.

Combeferre couldn’t help lightening up a bit, smiling ever so slightly.

“There we go,” Courfeyrac grinned. He paused for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Well, your sister mentioned not talking about moths before, and I was wondering—“

Combeferre groaned before he could finish.

Courfeyrac blinked. “Well now I’m really interested.”

“It’s nothing,” Combeferre sighed heavily. “I did my undergraduate thesis on moths and no one will let it go.”

“On moths?” Courfeyrac asked, amused.

“Yes. Moths are fascinating creatures—why wouldn’t I want to study them?”

“I think that—“

There was a knock on the door and a head peeking in before Courfeyrac could express what he thought.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“No, do you need me?” Courfeyrac asked. “Oh—Combeferre, this is Feuilly. She’s part of my crew.”

“Nice to meet you,” Combeferre nodded.

“You too,” she replied with a tight smile. “Courf has been gushing about you for ages now. Apparently you’re going to be so much better than all the other assholes we’ve had on the show—“

“ _Feuilly_ ,” Courfeyrac chided, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

She shrugged unapologetically. “Anyways, Courf, I need to steal you. Bahorel’s setting things up and they wanted your opinion so you don’t come down and make them move everything like usual.”

“It was one time,” Courfeyrac grumbled goodnaturedly. “Alright, I’ll be down in a sec.”

Feuilly nodded. “See you later, Combeferre. Hope you live up to the very high expectations,” she said with a teasing smile, waving before she disappeared again.

“Ignore her, she likes you already,” Courfeyrac said. “Anyways, I’m going to go and get everything prepared. You just relax for now, okay? I’ll come back to get you for the welcome lunch in two hours or so. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sure,” Combeferre agreed.

Courfeyrac gave his big, sunny smile as he stood. “Alright then. I’ll be back soon.”

Combeferre watched him leave and sighed, flopping back on the bed.

**

“How’s it going?”

Combeferre jumped when he heard Courfeyrac speak, and Courfeyrac turned apologetic.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he laughed, sitting beside Combeferre on the picnic table bench. Everyone else had left and the cameras were all safely off. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” Combeferre said. “And I’m doing… alright.”

The welcome lunch had been overwhelming, to say the least. There were only ten different people he had to meet but even so, it was all very much. Especially with cameras pointed at him in every direction.

“Everyone seems really nice,” he added, as Courfeyrac seemed to be expecting more.

“You seemed to get along with Grantaire and Eponine,” Courfeyrac offered. “And Jehan? I couldn’t tell how you felt about xem. What about Irma and Musichetta?”

“Uh,” Combeferre could barely keep everyone’s name straight at this point. “I did like Grantaire, and Eponine when she stopped looking at me like I kicked her puppy.”

Courfeyrac smiled wryly. “All part of her charm, I assure you.”

“Jehan was… interesting. Xe knows a lot about plants, but xe is also a little. Much.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “Not untrue. What about Irma and Musichetta, though?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember who they were,” Combeferre admitted sheepishly.

Courfeyrac gave him a very gracious and understanding smile. “Not a problem! You’ll get a chance to get to know everyone a little bit better at tonight’s party. And then tomorrow is an off day, so you get to go about spending some time with everyone naturally. And the day after, we’ll jump into some group dates. It won’t be long before you know everyone.”

Combeferre was still thinking of what to say in response (something that wasn’t _I’m not sure about that_ ) when his stomach grumbled loudly.

“Still hungry?” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, well, actually,” Combeferre squirmed a little, embarrassed. “I didn’t eat anything.”

“What?!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “How could you not—did you not like the food?”

“No, I just…” he trailed off, not wanting to explain how this all had to do with being on camera.

Courfeyrac seemed to pick up on it. “Oh,” he said. “Well, let’s go make something then.”

“What?”

Courfeyrac grabbed him by the arm, jumping to his feet. “Come on, we’ll make you something for lunch—I doubt anyone is in the kitchen now.”

Combeferre got up, a little reluctantly, as Courfeyrac tugged on his arm. “I—you don’t have to. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac looked at him very seriously. “Have we or have we not already covered that we’re going to be friends?”

“We have.”

“Then let me be your friend,” he said, dragging Combeferre through the backyard and towards the house. “Come on. What do you want for lunch?”

“Well, uh,” Combeferre felt completely flustered, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. “I don’t care. Whatever.”

The kitchen, when they reached it, was blissfully empty.

Courfeyrac frowned at him and squinted, leaning on the counter. “Kraft mac & cheese,” he decided.

Combeferre looked at him quizzically. “Am I six years old?”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac glared with no heat as he moved around the kitchen gathering supplies. “Mac & cheese is good for the soul. It’s what you need right now, guaranteed. It’s also one of the few things I’m qualified to make, but that is neither here nor there.”

Combeferre laughed. “Alright, fine. Sounds good.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Courfeyrac exclaimed from the pantry. “There is a ton of supplies for cookie making. We have to do that later.”

Combeferre could only grin. “Sure, I’d love to.”

“Great,” Courfeyrac beamed as he emerged triumphantly with a box of mac & cheese. “But first, the mac. Can you get some milk and butter while I start the noodles?”

“Of course.”

They were quiet for a moment before Courfeyrac decided to fill the silence. “So I think it’s time I get to _really_ know you,” he said, stirring the noodles while Combeferre watched.

“What do you mean?”

Courfeyrac looked up at him briefly. “Well I know all the stuff on your application—where you went to school and that. But none of the actually important stuff. Like what’s your favorite color?”

Combeferre laughed.

“Hey, that’s _very_ important,” Courfeyrac grinned.

“Oh is it?”

“Yes,” he insisted, still grinning. “And you better tell me.”

“Green,” Combeferre said. “What does that have to say about me?”

Courfeyrac laughed this time, warm and sweet—it made Combeferre want to make him laugh all the time. “Probably that you like plants and lizards too much. But I already knew that.”

Combeferre snorted, but couldn’t deny anything. “So what’s your favorite color, then?”

“Blue.”

“Ah, now I know you so much better.”

Courfeyrac was laughing again. “Don’t be a smart ass! I’ll throw this spoon at you, don’t think I won’t.”

“I know you won’t—you can’t pretend things like that with me, I _know_ you now. Your favorite color’s blue,” Combeferre answered in a serious voice, though the grin on his face was ruining it.

“Shut up!” Courfeyrac was shaking with laughter now—and it was a wonderful sight. Something about making Courfeyrac happy made everyone else happier too; it was like he radiated all of the joy he contained.

“Okay, fine,” Combeferre was still grinning. “Tell me something better then. You know all my hobbies—what do you like to do?”

Courfeyrac stirred the noodles thoughtfully, calming down. “Well, I love being a matchmaker.”

“Oh come on,” Combeferre scoffed.

“What?”

“That’s your job, not a hobby.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Well it started out as a hobby. I used to set people up all the time—I actually started doing vlogs about it and then that somehow turned into me hosting a television show where I get to play matchmaker. I mean, it’s a little different here. Not quite as organic. And I’ll admit, they try to play things up for _drama_ , which bothers me sometimes. But I love helping people find love.”

Combeferre hummed thoughtfully. He could see how much Courfeyrac really did like it in the way his eyes lit up; it really made him rethink what this whole reality TV dating show could be. Maybe it wasn’t nearly as fake and horrible as he’d first thought it would be. At any rate, so far Courfeyrac had been amazing and no one had done anything terrible to embarrass someone else.

“Well, what else do you like?” Combeferre continued, genuinely interested in knowing more about him.

“Reading,” he started. “I love reading just about everything—you have to be a level seven friend to see my home because it’s so cluttered with piles of books.”

Combeferre snorted. “Like that’s anything to be embarrassed about around me. Part of my profession is literally restoring old book—if anyone’s a bibliophile, it’s me.”

Courfeyrac looked at him thoughtfully. “Alright, I suppose you have level seven clearance then.”

“Wonderful.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Not that you’re allowed to leave the house unscheduled until the show’s done filming anyway.”

“Well, after then.”

“Yeah. After,” Courfeyrac’s smile turned softer and sweeter and Combeferre felt like he couldn’t look away.

“What else?” he asked abruptly, pulling himself out of the gaze. “I mean, do you have other interests?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Biking. I used to use a bike to get around _everywhere_. So much cheaper than public transport.”

“And you don’t anymore?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “My bike broke and I never really got a new one. And now I have more money, so.”

“Ah.”

“I like hiking as well. Outdoors stuff, in general,” Courfeyrac gestured vaguely with the wooden spoon he was using. “My family used to go camping every year—it was a little bit horrible (you know how family trips are), but I always loved being up in the mountains, surrounded by trees and stars and just. Nature.”

“That sounds amazing,” Combeferre agreed. “My mother was never really big on the outdoors. Probably because I always came home covered in mud or bleeding.”

Courfeyrac smiled fondly. “Let me guess, you spent your time chasing down frogs or something—moths maybe?”

Combeferre laughed at the teasing. “I can neither confirm nor deny that,” he insisted playfully. “I definitely spent a lot of time climbing trees and exploring streams.”

“Kid me would have thought you were _amazing_ ,” Courfeyrac said. “And would have been so jealous. We lived in a city, you know? So yeah, every year I got to go to this wonderful place in the woods. But the rest of the year, I was stuck in a tiny apartment squished with the rest of my siblings. The only nature I really saw was the tiny park nearby. And no one ever let me climb the trees, no matter how badly I wanted to.”

Combeferre didn’t really know what to say; he just nodded along thoughtfully.

“Aha!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “The noodles are done. Here, hold the strainer over the sink while I pour out the water.”

“You want me to hold something you’re about to pour boiling water into?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a baby! I’m not going to pour it on you.”

Combeferre grabbed the strainer as asked, holding for him. “You better not. Otherwise you get to explain on air why exactly my hands are burned.”

Courfeyrac snorted, pouring out the water perfectly. “See? We’re good. Now get the milk and stuff, time to mix it all together.”

“Alright, alright,” Combeferre went about gathering it. “No need to be so bossy.”

Courfeyrac, the picture of maturity, stuck out his tongue in response.

They worked in silence as they finished the prep. Only once it was done did Courfeyrac, face aglow with hope, stick out a spoonful of the mac and cheese and demand, “Taste.”

Combeferre opened his mouth, letting Courfeyrac feed him. It was… well, everything you would expect from neon orange cheese product macaroni. But Combeferre put on a big smile. “It’s really good.”

“We make a good team,” Courfeyrac beamed proudly.

Combeferre smiled back. “Yeah, we really do.”

The moment lingered too long and Combeferre snapped out of it before he could blush, spinning around in the kitchen to find plates.

Combeferre only spoke again once they were safely sat down at the table with their meals in front of them. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“What are friends for?” Courfeyrac shrugged it off, words coming out mumbled around a mouth of macaroni.

They finished their food with very little other conversation, and Combeferre wondered if he’d done something wrong. At the same time, he figured it was for the best. He had to remember that Courfeyrac was the _host_ and dancing on the line of this… this _thing_ between them, it was dangerous. There could be nothing more than friendship; it would definitely never happen. And Combeferre just had to remember that.

Plates were shoved into the sink when they were done and Courfeyrac led him towards the stairs. “We should probably both start getting ready for tonight.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre agreed. He paused, a little confused as Courfeyrac headed up the stairs as well. “I never asked—where is your room in the house? Or do you not have one?”

“Oh, me and the rest of the cast are all on the third floor as well,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m actually only a room over from you.”

“Oh.” Combeferre wasn’t sure if that was a bad or good thing, to have him so near.

“Yeah, we’re practically roomies,” Courfeyrac smiled as they reached their floor. “Anyways, I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Yeah, see you,” Combeferre parroted, watching as Courfeyrac waved and then slipped down the hall to a door Combeferre hadn’t really paid mind too early, what with all the amenities in his own suite to admire.

He went to his own room after a moment, intent on having a long bath. That was what he needed—that and for the next three weeks to be over. A bath, at least, was doable.

**

The first three days did, thankfully, fly by pretty quickly. There was the first night party—which he hated. But he did spend most of it talking to Jehan and Grantaire about old poetry and Swiss art. The following day was a free one, and he managed to get away with being alone in his room until nearly 1 pm. At that point, Cosette showed up to “visit”—which seemed to be a code for dragging him downstairs to socialize. (She very suspiciously disappeared afterwards, and Combeferre wasn’t surprised to find Marius missing as well.) While he wasn’t exactly thrilled, he did have a good time once he ended up in the group consisting of Grantaire, Jehan, Eponine, Courfeyrac, and Floreal. They played cards well into the evening.

Suddenly it was the third day and the horror of group dates and the first elimination was upon him.

The dates were predictably awkward. Being out with multiple people who were technically vying for his attention was not something Combeferre had ever wanted to do, nor was it something he was good at. He did enjoy his “date” with Grantaire, Musichetta, and Irma—if only because the three of them were all well acquainted and happy to talk as a group. The other dates, not so much.

But Combeferre survived, and he found himself squished on a couch pressed up against Courfeyrac, a camera shoved in their faces.

Courfeyrac had his official TVhost voice on as he spoke very seriously asking, “Do you know who you’re eliminating tonight?”

Combeferre nodded somberly—as somberly as he could manage, this hadn’t been a hardship. “Yes. As unfortunate as it is to see someone go—“ Feuilly had written these lines for him. Thank god. “—I have made my decision.”

“Alright then, let’s start passing out the roses.”

It was a horrible routine and Combeferre immediately hated it; the pressure, the artificial tension, the publicness of it all. But what could he do?

He passed out the roses as Courfeyrac made comments in that same TV host voice. All Combeferre could think about was how it didn’t like it nearly as much as the way Courfeyrac sounded normally.

Finally it was down to two roses; Montparnasse versus a man called Guillaume.

“And the last rose goes to…” Courfeyrac paused dramatically, waiting for Combeferre to hand it over. Combeferre had already been briefed on how exactly to time everything. It was all horribly tedious and artificial. “… Montparnasse. It seems we’ll be saying goodbye to Guillaume.”

Combeferre had to stand awkwardly as he shrugged and walked off. At the very least, there were no hurt feelings. He half listened through the rest of Courfeyrac’s spiel, and then they were calling it a wrap. Only then did Combeferre relax.

The others dispersed rather quickly, but Combeferre lingered until it was just him, Courfeyrac and some of the rest of the crew.

“So Guillaume—I can’t say I’m surprised,” Courfeyrac commented.

Combeferre shrugged. “Honestly, there’s about four people I can still easily get rid of.” And frankly, there was no one he was quite remotely in love with yet. At least, no one that was a contestant.

Courfeyrac looked a little crestfallen. “Well, I do have my secret selection to pick,” he said, sounding far too positive.

Combeferre only shrugged again.

“Anyways,” Courfeyrac switched topics quickly. “I was thinking we need some cookies. You up for some baking?”

Combeferre knew he should say no, but at the same time…. He nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Awesome,” Courfeyrac beamed. “We’ll meet in the kitchen in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Courfeyrac was still smiling as he walked away, giving Combeferre a pat on the shoulder as he left.

Combeferre headed his own way, back to his bedroom to change and get the makeup the stylist had _insisted on_ off of his face. When he came back down and into the kitchen, just a little before the allotted fifteen minutes, there was someone there but it wasn’t Courfeyrac.

The person standing there was tall and blond and looked at him severely.

“Hello?” Combeferre offered. “I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Combeferre.”

The severe look faded into a warm smile. “Oh, I’m Enjolras, Courfeyrac’s friend. He’s told me a lot about you.”

“Really?” _What_ , Combeferre couldn’t imagine. But Feuilly had said the same thing and she liked him well enough, so he supposed it could only be good things.

“Yeah,” Enjolras nodded, moving closer to thrust his hand out for Combeferre to take. “It’s nice to meet you—I’m told we’ll like each other, and Courf is rarely wrong.”

Combeferre shook his hand, smiling. So far, he couldn’t imagine finding a romance on this show, but he’d seem to be doing well in making friends. “Nice to meet you too, then. Are you here to make cookies?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, looking exasperated but fond. “I came because we had dinner plans and now, yes, apparently I’m baking cookies.”

“Oh,” Combeferre blinked. “If you two want to go out to dinner—it’s not as if I need cookies. You can steal Courf.”

“There will be no stealing,” came Courfeyrac’s voice from behind as he cheerfully entered the kitchen. “Enjolras can eat while we bake. Fun for everyone!”

Enjolras only shook his head in that same fond way, giving Combeferre a look that seemed to say _how do we put up with him?_

Combeferre only smiled back, feeling immediately a part of this little group.

“Now you two—keep getting to know each other, I’ll gather our supplies.” With that, Courfeyrac disappeared into the pantry.

Enjolras turned to him with interest. “I’m told you restore old books.”

“I do,” Combeferre answered, almost a little wary.

“I collect old and rare books,” Enjolras said, voice and face lighting up with excitement in equal measures. “What have you restored—do you have a personal collection? What museum do you work for, again? I’d love to hear exactly what you have on display and all about it.”

Combeferre wasn’t expecting that. Not even a little. He had to admit that it filled him with just a little bit of pride to find someone who was so interested in hearing about his work. “I don’t have much of a private collection, no. Nothing you would find interesting—“

“Try me,” Enjolras interrupted.

Combeferre grinned a little bit. “Why don’t I start with talking about the museum’s collection? We’ll move from interesting to dull.”

“I doubt any of it could be dull.”

“Talking about old books?” Courfeyrac asked as he reappeared. “See? I knew you two would be thick as thieves as soon as I introduced you.”

He was beaming and it was contagious—even Enjolras was smiling.

“Now, pretend to help me bake while you talk. I’ll put on some T Swift.”

**

From then on, most of his free time was spent with Courfeyrac and Enjolras—both together and separately. He’d settled among them better than he could have imagined, and now he could barely remember what it was like before he had Enjolras to debate children’s books with or Courfeyrac to watch movies with at 2am. Courfeyrac and he were especially inseparable—if only because they lived in the same house.

It was on the rest day after the fourth elimination that the two of them were holed up in front of the massive TV in Combeferre’s master suite. Courfeyrac had decided to win Combeferre over to reality TV—and was doing so by trying to get him addicted to property hunting shows. Sadly, it was working pretty well.

“So,” Courfeyrac said out of the blue, looking at Combeferre from where he was laying on the couch. Combeferre had taken the bed—being squished together on the couch was probably not a great idea. “Tomorrow’s activity. Do you want to know what it is?”

“Are you allowed to tell me?” Combeferre asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “No. But it seems only fair after last round.”

Combeferre winced. The fifth elimination had not gone very well at all. The setting for the group night out had ended up being at a club—and while Combeferre preferred group outings to the days with individual dates, he had never been much of a club person. Even less so when one of his contestants had ended up vomiting on him.

And then of course, there was the fact that this had been the first difficult elimination. It wasn’t as if Combeferre felt romantically attracted to any of them, but he’d grown to like those who remained as friends—Grantaire, Jehan, Eponine, and Musichetta, especially, but he liked Irma and Floreal as well. In the end, he’d had to choose Eponine. And even though she hadn’t been upset in the least, he still felt guilty.

“So do you want to know?” Courfeyrac prompted again, staring at him expectantly.

Combeferre nodded. “Yeah, I—yeah.”

Courfeyrac looked smug for a moment—Combeferre knew by now that he enjoyed having information other people didn’t, even though he couldn’t keep it a secret for long. “Well. We’re bringing in two people close to you to meet the contestants properly and give their opinions.”

“Oh no.”

“Yes.” Courfeyrac was grinning, as if he didn’t realize how much Combeferre would dread this kind of thing. Actually, he probably did.

“Is it—“

“Cosette and Joly,” Courfeyrac finished with a nod. “They know you best, and I love them both.”

Combeferre groaned, faceplanting on the bed. “Can’t you just have Jehan throw up on me again?”

Courfeyrac laughed.

“They’re going to be—“

“Great,” Courfeyrac soothed, interrupting again. Combeferre could hear him standing and moving to sit on the corner of the bed closest to him. “It’ll be fun to have them around, admit it.”

Combeferre looked up, giving a heavy sigh. “Maybe.”

“Will you feel less grumpy if I let you beat me at video games?” Courfeyrac asked with a grin.

Combeferre grumbled but couldn’t help smiling. “Yes.”

“Let’s go—and stop worrying about them being on the show. I told you so you’d be prepared, not so you’d make _that_ face until tomorrow.”

Combeferre stuck his tongue out.

**

On the day of the sixth event and elimination, Combeferre woke up to someone bouncing on his bed. As it turned out, it was two someones. He groaned loudly and they laughed, falling on either side of him on the bed.

“Good morning darling Ferre,” Cosette greeted, overly sweet. She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.

“I’ve missed you, Ferre,” Joly said. “And Bossuet sends his love.”

“I hate you two,” Combeferre groaned. “Can’t you be normal?”

“Aww, you wouldn’t want us that way,” Joly grinned.

The door swung open, interrupting Combeferre before he could reply.

“Hey Ferre, it’s time—oh.” Combeferre sat up enough to find it was Courfeyrac halfway in his bedroom looking surprised. “I see your guests are already here to wake you.”

“Take them away, please,” Combeferre replied with an exasperated sigh (hiding his smile as best as he could).

Courfeyrac grinned. “What? These two lovely ladies could hardly be bothering you.”

“Nope, he’s just a big baby,” Cosette supplied.

“He loves us deep down,” Joly added.

Courfeyrac laughed. “Trust me, I know him and his morning struggles. He’s only a grump because he hasn’t had his morning tea.”

It was only then that Combeferre noticed Courfeyrac was holding a travel mug. He made an unseemly noise. “Oh you’re the best,” he sighed gratefully, sitting up a little further and holding out his hand.

Courfeyrac laughed again, but seemed a bit distant. He handed the mug over, but didn’t sit. “Well, I uh. Better go get things ready. See you guys soon.”

Cosette and Joly were both staring intently at him the second Courfeyrac left.

“What?” Combeferre asked, sipping at his tea.

“He brings you tea?” Joly quirked an eyebrow.

“You two seem pretty close,” Cosette added.

Combeferre shrugged defensively. “We’re friends. And he’s trying to be a good host. You know, of the _dating show_ I’m on?”

“Speaking of,” It was a poor transition Joly made, but Combeferre was thankful nonetheless. He did not want to go down the road they had started to lead. “I’m excited to meet everyone and find your one true love.”

Combeferre groaned. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?”

Cosette grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

**

Once Combeferre was properly dressed and they had breakfast, the day really began. Because Cosette and Joly were here, it seemed that the pressure was taken off of him to some degree; everyone was supposed to focus on impressing _them_ rather than him. Even though he dreaded the stories they would tell, he had to admit that it was nice. Plus, it’d been over a week since he’d seen Joly and any visits from Cosette had been too short; it was fun to have them around to catch up.

It was only at the end of the day that the pressure fell back to Combeferre. He, Cosette, Joly, and Courfeyrac were put on a couch with cameras pointed at them so Cosette and Joly could share their deep findings.

“So who did you like best?” Courfeyrac asked, TV host voice on.

“Well, I loved Musichetta,” Joly answered. “I’m not sure if she and Combeferre have really clicked, but she’s amazing for sure.”

And even if they had, Combeferre would definitely be setting Musichetta as off-limits now. He’d known Joly long enough to know when she had a crush on someone; this was definitely it. He made a note to slip her Joly’s phone number.

“And you, Cosette?” Courfeyrac continued.

“My brother needs someone who can make him stop taking himself so seriously,” Cosette said, looking at Courfeyrac in a way Combeferre couldn’t quite understand. “I’m not sure how much I saw that in the contestants today. If I had to choose right now? Grantaire, maybe. But Irma has a spark to her that I wouldn’t overlook.”

Courfeyrac nodded in a thoughtful way that Combeferre assumed was mostly for the show. “And your least favorites? Who do you think Combeferre should send home tonight?”

“Jehan,” Cosette answered first.

“Agreed,” Joly said. “I love xem, but xe and Combeferre clearly aren’t interested in each other. I think Combeferre already knows that—I think he knows exactly who it is he likes best here.”

Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre now. “So you’ve heard from your closest friend and sister tonight. Have you made your final decisions?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Combeferre said, looking very clearly into Courfeyrac’s stunning green eyes. And dammit—he knew what Cosette and Joly were trying to hint at. He knew it and… and, he knew they were right.

**

After he eliminated Jehan (who gave him a hug and insisted there were no hard feelings at all—and that they should meet up sometime to hang out as just friends), Combeferre dragged Cosette and Joly off before Courfeyrac could find them.

“I have feelings for Courfeyrac,” he blurted out, as soon as they were shut safely in the greenhouse. No one would come looking for them here.

“And, there we have it,” Cosette said. “He’s figured it out.”

Combeferre groaned. “I knew from the start that I could, I just—I hoped I could make it _not_ happen.”

Joly rubbed his back soothingly as he slumped on the ground. “Feelings suck, I know.”

Cosette sat on his other side. “But they can also be wonderful.”

“Just because you and Marius are hooking up—“

“ _Excuse_ , you,” Cosette pinched his arm sharply and he winced. “Don’t get snippy because I have a boyfriend. My happiness is not the cause of your sadness.”

Combeferre frowned, and mumbled out a, “Sorry.”

“Good,” Cosette said, sounding satisfied. “Now, what is our battle plan?”

Combeferre stared at her, confused. “Battle plan?”

“Yes,” Joly cut in. “You realized have feelings for Courfeyrac, now we figure out how you’re going to win over your man.”

Combeferre actually couldn’t speak for a moment. “You do realize that he’s literally the _host_ of the _dating show_ I’m currently on? As in, the person trying to find me a soulmate? One who is not him?”

Cosette snorted. “Oh, honey. Like that is going to stop _us_.”

“We’re not going to let your first crush in ages go by just because of some dumb show,” Joly continued.

Combeferre shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not interested—and he wouldn’t risk it anyway. He loves his job and being with me? Well, I can’t imagine the executives would be happy about that.”

Joly and Cosette were silent for a moment; he could practically _feel_ them sharing looks and communicating nearly telepathically.

“We think you should talk to him,” Joly said finally. “He definitely likes you, Ferre. I mean, we’ve been around a day—it’s _obvious_.”

“Hell, we didn’t need a whole day. The second he showed up to your bedroom with tea? I knew it.”

Combeferre sighed. “That’s not—“

“It is,” Cosette insisted. “You have to stop doubting this and believe that he likes you. That someone like him _can_ like you.”

And ouch. That truth had maybe hit too close to home. Did he really doubt it because he thought gorgeous, witty, friendly Courfeyrac was beyond him? He knew that he’d self-sabotaged lesser relationships in the past and he didn’t want this to turn out the same.

“Just talk to him, Ferre,” Joly said. “Maybe it won’t work out, I mean that’s a possibility. But do you really want to go on never knowing?”

“Sure it’s difficult,” Cosette added. “And you’ll have to figure things out. But it might all be worth it—more than you could imagine.”

Combeferre bit at his lip. “Do you think that he really would want to be with me? And that—no,” he shook his head, a little more decisively. “I can’t make him choose between me and his job.”

“By not letting him choose, you’re choosing for him,” Cosette pointed out sternly.

“Besides, who’s to say there _is_ a choice that has to be made? There could very well be a way to have everything and you’re just not seeing it because you’re too hung up on being nervous,” Joly added, bluntly.

Maybe it all stung a bit, but it was exactly what he needed to hear. “I—you’re right. Of course.”

“Damn right,” Cosette grinned.

“Fistbumps!” Joly exclaimed, sticking out her fist.

Combeferre sighed exasperated and fond as the two bumped their fists in front of him, making an explosion noise as they pulled apart.

“So you’re going to talk to him?” Joly prompted.

“Yeah,” Combeferre decided, feeling a little more confident. “Yeah, I’m going to try.”

“Good,” Cosette beamed.

“But… not tonight,” Combeferre qualified sheepishly. “Tonight can we avoid him?”

“Only if there’s ice cream,” Joly said. “And you promise you _will_ talk to him soon.”

“Deal.”

**

The thing about _soon_ was that it was a relative term. Who was to say what soon was? It could be a month or a year, for all anyone knew. That would be soon compared to five years. Of course, Combeferre knew full well that when Joly had made him promise to talk to Courfeyrac _soon_ , it wasn’t supposed to be past six days after.

Combeferre couldn’t help it though, no moment seemed right. But here they were, slowly inching towards the close of the show. After the day’s elimination, there would only be three contestants left—and before he knew it, the show would be over. As much as Courfeyrac said they would be friends long after, Combeferre couldn’t help but think he had to do this _now_. Before his chance—and nerve—was gone.

When Combeferre showed up for the elimination ceremony, it was with the promise to himself that afterwards he would finally talk to Courfeyrac—no letting himself get distracted.

The past few days leading up to the elimination had been spent going on individual dates with the contestants that each had specifically picked with the theme of _romance_ in mind. Combeferre had mostly felt awkward through them—with the exception of Grantaire’s, as he had taken him to an arcade, and Musichetta’s, since they spent the whole time talking about Joly. But it was clear in his mind that none of them were _the one_ and the elimination was really an arbitrary matter.

What he didn’t expect was for a fight to break out.

They were down to the final rose—the remaining contestants being Irma and Grantaire—and Courfeyrac was just about to dramatically announce who was going home, when it started. Combeferre wasn’t even sure what was happening; one second everything was quiet and normal (as normal as it could be), and the next Irma and Floreal were screaming at each other.

Courfeyrac grabbed his arm and was pulling him away almost immediately, while Bahorel and Grantaire restrained each girl (though Combeferre couldn’t see any physical violence).

“What on earth is happening?”

“I have no idea,” Courfeyrac murmured in reply, ushering him away as much as Combeferre tried to stop and figure out what the girls were screaming about. “But you should go up to your room, okay? I’ll sort it out and come tell you.”

“Courf—“

“Please? For me?”

The second Courfeyrac flashed his pretty green eyes, Combeferre knew it was hopeless. “Fine.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac smiled briefly before he dashed away.

Combeferre huffed as he walked upstairs, curious and a little concerned.

Thankfully, Courfeyrac was not delayed in returning to him. Not fifteen minutes later, he was carelessly slamming the door behind him as he rushed into the room and plopped down on the bed beside Combeferre.

“So,” he started.

“So what?” Combeferre urged, impatient.

“Though I fear it will greatly wound your ego,” Courfeyrac sighed dramatically. “The fight was not over you.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “Can you get to the point?”

“It seems that Irma and Floreal have kind-of been. A thing.”

“A thing?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “A romantic thing. I’m not sure if they’re throwing around the word girlfriend or what, but the whole elimination thing caused a bit of a spat. They were both worried that the other would be chosen as the winner by you and well. Relationship problems.”

Combeferre blinked. That was not exactly what he was expecting—though he supposed he could see it now. Irma and Floreal had been unbelievably close since the beginning.

“But how did the yelling start?” Combeferre asked, still confused. It was one thing to be worried—but to yell during filming?

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I don’t really know what happened. Only the motivation. And the fact that they are quite made up now. Speaking of, you should probably eliminate Floreal next.”

Combeferre could only hum.

“I mean, it shouldn’t be a real hardship. The two of you didn’t seem to have much chemistry at all on the last date. I mean, you and _I_ have more chemistry.” Courfeyrac said it with a snort, as if it was supposed to be funny, but Combeferre could only feel incredibly awkward. He tensed, hoping Courfeyrac wouldn’t notice.

At the same time… this was the perfect chance, wasn’t it?

“I bet you would plan a better date for us,” Combeferre said, softly. It was not direct no, but he hadn’t promised directness had he?

“Easily,” Courfeyrac replied instantly. His voice dropped a little and their eyes met. “I would take you out for a picnic. Out in the woods or by a lake, preferably.”

“I could teach you to climb a tree.”

“I’d _make_ you,” Courfeyrac smiled softly. “And then you’d catch frogs or—“

“Fireflies,” Combeferre interrupted. “If we went in the right time of the summer, we could wait until dark and catch fireflies.”

“That sounds perfect.”

At some point, they had inched ever so slightly closer. Combeferre felt his heart pounding. His palms were sweaty.

“Would you kiss me?” Combeferre asked, voice little more than a murmur. “On our date?”

Courfeyrac’s tongue ran over his lips slowly. And then… and then he was leaning in and they were kissing.

It was timid and sweet at first, and Courfeyrac pulled back uncertainly.

“Is that—“

“Yes,” Combeferre answered, pushing forward to claim his lips again. This was everything he wanted and it was better than he could have imagined.

Combeferre cupped his cheek gently, deepening the kiss.

Courfeyrac let out a murmur of a sound as their tongues met.

Before he knew it, Combeferre found Courfeyrac climbing into his lap and straddling him—hands in his hair.

“Courf,” Combeferre murmured against his lips.

Courfeyrac made a humming sound, barely breaking away.

“Should we talk about this before—“

“Shhh,” Courfeyrac cut him off, giving him a peck of a kiss on the lips. “Talk later. Make out now.”

And that was logic Combeferre couldn’t disagree with.

**

Combeferre woke to a knock on the door. He made a grunt of a noise that the person on the other side seemed to take to mean “come in.”

“Morning, Ferre. Have you seen—oh.”

Combeferre opened his eyes groggily to find a shocked Feuilly a little ways in from the door. It took him a minute to figure out what she could possibly be shocked about and then—right. Courfeyrac.

Combeferre scrambled into a sitting position and Feuilly’s eyes only went wider as it became very clear that neither Combeferre nor Courfeyrac was wearing a shirt.

“Feuilly, it’s not—we didn’t _sleep_ together. We just slept together.”

She stared skeptically for a moment, which gave Courfeyrac enough time to regain consciousness.

“Mmm, Ferre what are you—“ he cut off when he seemed to realize how panicked Combeferre looked and noticed Feuilly. “Shit. Feuilly, look, it’s not what it seems.”

“Well,” Feuilly paused. “It’s none of my business. I just came to let you know we have a meeting in twenty about your secret selection.”

“Shit,” Courfeyrac swore again. He sat up running a hand through his hair. “Feuilly, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Tell anyone what?” she raised her eyebrows. “I saw nothing. Heard nothing. Know nothing.”

Courfeyrac sighed in relief. “I’m calling the Pope today about getting you a sainthood.”

“Twenty minutes.” Was all Feuilly said before she left, closing the door very carefully behind her.

Courfeyrac let his head fall on Combeferre’s shoulder. “Well. That had the potential to be very, very bad.”

“Are you—do you regret this?” Combeferre asked. He couldn’t help it. “I knew this would conflict with your job, but. Well, do you regret it?”

“No,” Courfeyrac answered fiercely. “Ferre, you have to—I’ve had a crush on you since I _read_ about you. You probably noticed that when I enthusiastically made out with you until we were too tired and then cuddled you half to death.”

Combeferre couldn’t help smiling a bit.

“But it’s—this is complicated. I mean, obviously I’m not allowed to have a relationship with anyone on the show.”

“You want to have a relationship, though?” Combeferre clarified, almost timidly.

“Yes.” Again there was no hesitation. “But right now? I don’t know how. I could be fired. And _shit_ , that meeting is in what? Seventeen minutes now. I haven’t even figure out who to pick yet and I have to go tell everyone and _shit shit fuck_.”

Courfeyrac scrambled out of bed as he spoke, finding his pants and shirt on the floor.

“You,” Combeferre said, surprised he hadn’t thought of it before.

“What?”

“Pick _you_.”

Courfeyrac froze, staring at him.

“For the secret selection thing? Is there anything saying you _can’t_ choose yourself?” Combeferre asked, staying as calm as he could. But honestly—he was excited. “Choose yourself. And of course I’ll pick you. I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“I—“ Courfeyrac stood, looking thoughtful and uncertain. “Well. I don’t think there’s a rule against that exactly.”

“Then it could work.”

Courfeyrac smiled, but it lacked its usual shine. “Yeah, possibly.” He made a face. “Not if I miss the meeting though. Look, I hate to run out of here so quickly but—“

“It’s fine,” Combeferre assured, getting to his feet. He crossed the short space between them, pulling Courfeyrac into a chaste kiss. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” Courfeyrac gave him a last kiss on the cheek before he hurried away.

Combeferre watched him leave with a dopey smile on his face—one he couldn’t quite stop doing all day.

**

It took Combeferre up until the next day, when they had a gathering of him and the remaining contestants for the big “secret selection reveal”, to notice that Courfeyrac had been kind-of avoiding him. He supposed it could have just been that he was busy—honestly, that was probably it. After all, he had to be getting some heat over the whole relationship thing. Even if there was a loophole, the executives were probably pissed.

In fact, Combeferre had to wonder if perhaps Courfeyrac _had_ lost his job over it anyway. Maybe after this season was finished, he’d be kicked off the show and it’d be all Combeferre’s fault. The thought made his stomach turn.

It only seemed more and more likely when Courfeyrac wouldn’t look him in the eyes when he entered the room for the reveal.

“Over the course of our time here,” Courfeyrac started once everyone was gathered and the cameras had been checked and rechecked. “I’ve gotten to know Combeferre very well and grown to think highly of him. I’ve also had a chance to see how he interacts with a lot of different types of people and learned very clearly who it is he has chemistry with.”

Combeferre couldn’t help smiling, as nervous as he was about Courfeyrac’s fate.

“Because of that, my choice for his secret selection is obvious.” Courfeyrac paused in the dramatic way that Combeferre hated. It was all TV host and not Courfeyrac at all.

“My choice is….” Courfeyrac looked over at Combeferre briefly. “Enjolras.”

Combeferre froze. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe. For a moment he thought that maybe he had heard wrong, but Enjolras was walking out with a pained look on his face and Courfeyrac was babbling something about how the viewers might know him from some vlog or another.

No, this couldn’t be happening. And somehow _it was_.

Combeferre tried to rationalize it in every way possible. Maybe the producers had forced Courfeyrac to name someone else. Maybe they had threatened him with the loss of his job if he didn’t. Maybe… maybe he didn’t want to be with Combeferre after all.

“—Combeferre?”

He snapped out of it, looking helplessly at Courfeyrac as he spoke.

“I asked, what do you think about having Enjolras on the show? I know the two of you have grown rather close.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll see,” Combeferre forced out. “Sometimes that’s not enough. Sometimes things get in the way or one person just doesn’t feel as strongly. So, who knows what will happen.”

Courfeyrac looked pained, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. “Yeah, I guess we’ll have to see.”

**

Combeferre basically ran away as soon as the filming was done, even though he could see Courfeyrac clearly wanted to speak with him. This time he hid himself, alone, in the pantry.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a very good hiding place.

Not ten minutes in, someone stumbled in through the door. Thankfully it was only Grantaire.

“Ah, are you looking to drown yourself in food as well?”

Combeferre only shrugged.

Grantaire sat beside him. “Look, clearly something’s wrong. Everyone could see it.”

“It’s nothing.”

Grantaire hummed. “Normally I would let this go. But I know it’s about Courfeyrac. And look, he’s a great guy but whatever shit he’s pulling, you don’t deserve it.”

Combeferre stared at him in surprise, watching as Grantaire ripped open a box of cookies and slowly started to devour them.

“How did you know—“

“Please, everyone did. But the point is, the whole secret boyfriend thing? It’s bullshit. Maybe you love him a whole fucking lot, but trust me it’s the worst feeling in the world to have to _pretend_ it’s nothing and watch him do whatever the fuck he wants—watch him tangle himself in this web and try to plead it’s just a _favor_ or it will throw suspicion off or just. The whole thing. Bullshit.”

Combeferre gaped a little, the rant washing over him and suddenly a lot of things made sense. “You and Enjolras?”

Grantaire grunted. “Trust me, you deserve better than the secret boyfriend thing.”

“I would have been, you know. If he asked—I wouldn’t have made him choose between me and his job,” Combeferre said quietly, putting a pin in the discussion of Grantaire’s love life. “But it seems he just did.”

Grantaire offered him a cookie, a sympathetic look on his face. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

Combeferre sighed. “Then why does it hurt so much?”

**

It wasn’t until Combeferre was so stuffed on junkfood that he nearly felt ill that he and Grantaire stumbled upstairs and to their respective rooms. Grantaire left him with a few hearty pats on the back and a reiterated, “It’s all bullshit.”

When Combeferre slipped quietly into his room, doing his best to avoid basically everyone, he found he wasn’t alone. Courfeyrac was sat on his bed, biting his nails.

“Combeferre—“

“Courf,” Combeferre sighed exasperatedly. “Please just leave.”

“Look, I need to make you _understand_.”

He shook his head, moving past Courfeyrac towards the bathroom. “I do.”

“I want this to work,” Courfeyrac said, ignoring him. “I really do. But my job—if I picked myself, they would have fired me on the spot. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t—“

“I get it,” Combeferre interrupted. “I should have never expected anything else, really. I knew that this wouldn’t work from the start; I was foolish to convince myself otherwise.”

Courfeyrac looked utterly heartbroken; Combeferre had to turn away so he wouldn’t break down.

“You know, if you had told me what you were doing—if you had _asked me_ how I felt—I would have gone along with anything,” he said, cold and harsh. “I would have kept it all a secret and pretended to be in love with Grantaire or whoever you wanted for the show. But you made your priorities very clear. And you know, maybe it really is for the best.”

“Ferre—“

“Please. Just leave.”

There was silence for a moment, then the quiet sound of footsteps on the carpet and the open and close of the bedroom door.

There was nothing left to do—nothing he could do. Tomorrow morning, Combeferre would go to the producers and let them know that he couldn’t finish the show. That there was no one he was interested in anyways. He’d lie and say something urgent had come up, if he had to.

For now, though. He was going to soak in the bath until he felt a little less like his heart had been crushed.

**

It was midday when Combeferre finally worked up the nerve to leave his bedroom. He didn’t get very far; he found Enjolras camped out in front of his door.

“Can I come in?” he asked, looking desperate.

Combeferre nodded, leading him in and closing the door. Combeferre chose to sit, watching as Enjolras paced.

“Look. Courfeyrac messed up—we both did—but he didn’t mean to hurt you,” Enjolras started.

“Did he send you?” Combeferre asked, tired.

“What?” Enjolras look startled and offended in one. “No. Of course not. He’d probably hate me if he knew I came to talk to you, honestly.”

Combeferre sighed. “It’s pointless anyways. If anyone, you should be talking to Grantaire.”

Enjolras stiffened. “I know. I just. I had to let you know first how much Courfeyrac cares for you. I’ve never seen him so close to anyone else before and I… I don’t want him to lose that for a stupid mistake.”

“Enjolras—“

“Please, listen to me,” Enjolras insisted. “Courf did the wrong thing, but he’s going to make up for it—he’s currently making up for it, actually.”

“What?” Combeferre blinked. “What is he doing?”

Enjolras hesitated, looking guilty. “I’m definitely not supposed to say that.”

 _“Enjolras_.”

“He’s quitting,” Enjolras answered. “He said he’s choosing you—being with you—over the job.”

Combeferre groaned. “Does he even _listen_ to me?!”

Enjolras looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“I didn’t say ‘quit your job, Courfeyrac,’” Combeferre huffed. “I said, ‘include me in the conversation.’ I just wanted him to act like he _cared_ and wanted to work it out, I didn’t want to be the reason he left his dream job.”

Enjolras snorted. “This is _not_ his dream job.”

It was Combeferre’s turn to be surprised. “What?”

“Yeah, he loves matchmaking, but doing the show means letting other people be in control of him creatively. He’s always hated it,” Enjolras explained. “Quitting is probably the best thing for him.”

“Oh.” Combeferre blinked. “Well, still. I don’t want him to do this _because of me_. I don’t want him to ever feel like he has to do something to be with me—like there are hoops he has to jump through and choices he has to make.”

“Combeferre?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe you should be telling him this,” Enjolras said.

Combeferre bit his lip. “Fair enough. But only if you go talk to Grantaire.”

“That’s not—“

“Yes it is,” Combeferre answered sternly, giving him a look. “You need to talk to him as much as I need to talk to Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now tell me where I can find Courfeyrac.”

**

Leaving the house without permission was strictly against the rules, but it wasn’t like Combeferre cared about that anymore. As soon as he got the information and Enjolras’ car keys, he was gone.

The short drive didn’t give him time to be nervous; it was only when he was standing outside the building where the show’s producers and executives apparently worked that it hit him that this might not be the best idea in the world. And what was he thinking he was going to accomplish, really? Honestly he hadn’t thought _at all_ about anything but finding Courfeyrac and talking to him. But this—

“Combeferre?”

He looked up to find a shocked Courfeyrac exiting the building.

“Ferre, what are you doing here?” he asked again, when Combeferre didn’t answer.

“Did you just quit for me?”

Courfeyrac cast a look back at the building. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I’d rather not—“

“I have Enjolras’ car.”

“Great. Come on, we’ll go sit in it and I can explain everything,” Courfeyrac said, looking hopeful.

Combeferre did as he said, leading the way back to the car and climbing into the driver’s seat while Courfeyrac got in the passenger’s side. “So….”

“I did. I quit. I figured you’d prefer that to some dramatic on air thing,” Courfeyrac said. “But I had to—you were right, what I did wasn’t fair. None of it. I shouldn’t have—“

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre interrupted. “I never wanted you to _quit_ for me. You love your job. I just, I don’t know, I wanted you to _talk to me_.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No, I realized there was no way I was going to keep this a secret. Because you know what? It would still be a scandal even if we waited to be public until well after the show. And honestly, I’m so sick of that show.”

Combeferre opened his mouth to speak but Courfeyrac continued.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you in the first place, maybe I shouldn’t have just run off to do this, but it was _right_. I really did think I loved this job but the fact is I was lying to myself. I forgot what it was like for this to happen organically—to meet someone you like and know you want to be with them. That’s what I loved, not competitive dates and contrived ceremonies to hand out roses.”

“To be fair, we only met through the show,” Combeferre pointed out with a grin.

“To be fair,” Courfeyrac mimicked, smirking. “Aren’t you _always_ Ferre?”

Combeferre snorted. “That was so bad.”

“Last time you thought it was clever.”

“Last time I was being polite to the really cute, dorky host.” Combeferre was still grinning.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “Oh and now you don’t need to be polite?”

“No, the really cute, dorky ex-host already likes me.”

Courfeyrac laughed. “True.”

“In fact,” Combeferre started, a little more seriously. “I think he might be my boyfriend now?”

“I’m not sure about that,” Courfeyrac said, and Combeferre felt his heart sink. “I mean, you haven’t taken me on a _single_ date. How easy do you think I am?”

Combeferre shoved him. “That was mean.”

Courfeyrac only laughed. “I’m sorry. Do you still want me as your boyfriend?”

“God help me, but I do,” Combeferre gave a dramatic sigh that was ruined by his grin.

“Well then,” Courfeyrac leaned in slightly, and Combeferre did too. His eyes flickered down to Combeferre’s lips and back to his eyes. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“We’ll figure everything out,” Combeferre nodded.

But not now. Now, Courfeyrac was closing the distance between them, kissing Combeferre passionately. Later they would figure things out and deal with the fallout of Courfeyrac quitting and Combeferre still planning to leave the show; now they were going to make out in Enjolras’ car.

**

 **EPILOGUE** :

“Courfeyrac, we’re going to be late,” Combeferre called out not for the first time, standing by the door waiting. There was a picnic to get to with their friends and Combeferre was already getting reminder messages from Feuilly and Enjolras both.

Courfeyrac emerged from the bathroom, giving him an annoyed look. “Hold on,” he huffed. “I would have been ready ages ago, if _someone_ hadn’t given me a hickey the size of Texas above the collar. Do you know how much makeup that took to cover up?”

Combeferre tried to look apologetic, but he was sure he ended up looking more smug than anything.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Just none of this next week, you hear? I’ve got clients to meet and as much as the giant hickeys show off how well I’ve done in my personal romantic life, I’d rather try and look a little professional.”

“I’ll do my best,” Combeferre promised.

Courfeyrac gave an exasperated, but fond, sigh. “Anyways, I’m ready—let me just put on my shoes. Oh and did you grab the fruit salad from the fridge? Enjolras will never let it go if we forget _again_.”

“It’s right here,” Combeferre assured. “And it was reasonable to forget it that time—I’d just asked you to move in, we were distracted.”

“Mmm,” Courfeyrac hummed, pressing up against Combeferre. “That was a wonderful distraction. I’d like to be that distracted again.”

 _“Courfeyrac_.”

“Fine. Later,” Courfeyrac pouted, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Combeferre grabbed the fruit salad and led him out the door and down the stairs.

“You know,” Courfeyrac said. “I was thinking of asking Feuilly to come work with me.”

“ _Courf_ —“

“I know, I know,” Courfeyrac sighed. “I have to wait until I have a bigger clientele and can be sure I can reliably pay her. But, it’s been a year and a half. I just feel like I betrayed her, leaving her with _The Matchmaker_ while I fucked off to do my own thing. Bahorel at least got a better job.”

“But you know _she_ doesn’t feel that way,” Combeferre said, even though it was an old conversation that the two of them had had many times. “She’s happy for you—and you know she’ll only turn you down if you ask before there’s a real need for her. And right now you’re small enough you barely need Marius.”

“Gee, thanks,” Courfeyrac huffed.

Combeferre stopped him in the hall before they could walk outside. “You know I believe in you; you’re going to be the best relationship coach and have more clients than you know what to do with,” he offered, kind and sincere. “But right now you have to be patient.”

“Fine,” Courfeyrac sighed. “You’re right. You’re always right—I kind of hate it.”

He was teasing now, and Combeferre leaned down to catch his lips in a kiss.

“Before we go,” Combeferre started. “There’s something I wanted to give you.”

Courfeyrac looked at him, a little surprised. “What is it?”

“Come here.” Combeferre led him outside and to the bike rack outside of their apartment building. There was a single bike chained to it—a light blue one with a big red bow on the seat.

Courfeyrac stared at it for a moment, mouth agape. “You got that for _me?_ ” he asked, looking absolutely delighted. “Oh my god, you’re the _best_.” He threw his arms around Combeferre’s neck, standing on his toes to do so. The fruit salad container got squished between them.

“I know you used to love biking everywhere, well, even if you don’t have to, I thought you might like it,” Combeferre said, rather sheepishly.

Courfeyrac leaned up to kiss him. “I do. I love it.”

“Good,” Combeferre grinned.

“Although, now you need to get one. How can I go for bike rides without my fiancé?”

Combeferre laughed. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

“I knew I would,” Courfeyrac looked smug. “You cave as soon as I throw around the f-word.”

Combeferre snorted.

Courfeyrac leaned up, kissing him tenderly. “Thank you. Really. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now,” Courfeyrac moved to the bike. “We have an engagement picnic party to get to and I have an engagement present to show off—that’s what this is, right?”

Combeferre laughed. “It can be, if you want.”

“Perfect,” Courfeyrac beamed as he unchained it and started to push it along. “Let’s go and make all of our closest friends jealous with our epic love.”

Combeferre couldn’t disagree with that.


End file.
